


Saving Grace

by Like_a_teddy_bear



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2096148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Like_a_teddy_bear/pseuds/Like_a_teddy_bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life at 221B is the same as usual, with John dealing with a bored Sherlock in the space of time between cases. When the next one comes around John’s life takes an unexpected plummet, leaving Sherlock to help pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Extra Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peoples! Decided to write my first ever fic, and it just had to be Johnlock. So, here we go, I hope you like it. Not making any promises about when I’ll post each chapter because (knowing me) I won’t be able to stick to it…  
> Enjoy!

Dr John Watson was engaged in a consultation with his patient, though that didn't stop him from seeing his phone light up on the desk, indicating a text alert. Whilst keeping his attention fully on his patient, John flipped his phone over so that it was face down, in an attempt to ignore the growing list of text messages. Despite his attempts, John found himself glancing at his phone each time the screen brightened. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, though it had only lasted around 20 minutes, his patient left the room. The instant the door clicked shut behind her, john snatched his phone off the desk, his frustration building.

"12 messages in the space of one appointment... That's got to be a personal best!" John murmured, irritation clear in his voice.

"When did you leave? SH".  
"Were you here when I mentioned the human eyes Molly has offered me? SH".  
"John? SH".  
"I need a case, John. S.".  
"I can feel my brain rotting. SH".  
"How can normal people live like this? SH".  
"How do you do it, John? SH".  
"Bored. SH".  
"Still bored. SH".  
"You're ignoring me. SH".  
"It is considered rude to ignore communications from another person. SH".  
"Are you aware of that, John? SH".

John could barely contain his anger as he punched out his reply, "Yes, I am aware, but I have a good reason to 'ignore communications' from you!", then busied himself organising his office whilst waiting for Sherlock’s reply, which came sooner than expected.

John leant across his desk to read Sherlock’s response, "I hardly think a patient, probably only with a case of the sniffles, is an adequate reason to ignore my messages. SH.". John couldn't believe what he just read. He had learnt to deal with Sherlock demanding his attention constantly, even while working, but for him to undermine the importance of his work? That was an entire new level. John took a moment to consider his reply, "Glad to see you value the significance of my work, Sherlock.". After thumbing the send button, John turned off his phone and abruptly shut it away in the top drawer of his desk as he sat back down in his familiar chair, moments before Sarah Sawyer, John’s supervisor at the surgery, entered his office after knocking.

“Rebecca Norton’s appointment is being moved to tomorrow at 14:10.” Sarah informed John from the doorway.

“Thanks for letting me know, Sarah” John replied with a sincere smile, as she closed the door behind her.

John glanced at his schedule on his computer. _8 more appointments, then I get to go home and deal with a ratty, bored Sherlock. Brilliant._

A case couldn’t come sooner. It had been just over a week since the situation with ‘The Woman’ had been wrapped up and Sherlock was bored beyond belief. When Sherlock got bored he got frustrated, and when Sherlock got frustrated he insulted John constantly. John found himself getting out of the flat as often as possible, just to get a break from dealing with Sherlock’s antics. He’d even been driven to taking extra shifts at the surgery.

John was beginning to regret taking one of those extra shifts today. He glanced at the clock above his door. _Only 10:30? My clock must have stopped._ John leaned close to the computer screen as he peered at the time in the bottom right hand corner. To his dismay, it only confirmed that it was, in fact, only 10:30. John sank back into his chair with a sigh.

John sat through a further six painstaking appointments, then opened the top drawer of his desk, intending to grab his increasing pile of paperwork and sort through it during the lull in his consultations, however his attention was seized by his mobile phone. He picked the phone up out of the drawer and flipped it in his hand a few times, considering whether to turn it back on and face, no doubt, more messages from Sherlock, discrediting his choice in career. After several minutes of thinking through his options, John decided to face the insulting texts he would have received from Sherlock in the period of time his phone was switched off. He’d have to read them sooner or later, wouldn’t he?

John pressed and held the power button, making a prediction of the number of messages Sherlock had sent in total while waiting for his phone to turn on; he guaranteed there would be a minimum of five, after leaving the phone switched off for around four hours. When the screen finally brightened, John was shocked by what he read on the lock screen.

_You have 1 new message._

“One message? That’s it?” John muttered, without realising.

After his disbelief of the amount of messages, or lack of messages, from Sherlock faded, John began to feel apprehensive. Before turning on his phone John had prepared himself for Sherlock’s boredom-fuelled abuse, but he wasn’t ready for this. It wasn’t like Sherlock to send one text and give up persisting for a response when John ignored him. So what had Sherlock said?

John glanced at the clock. His next patient was due in a few minutes. Before he had a chance to reconsider, he opened the message from Sherlock.

“I’m sorry. SH”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, you're amazing! Sorry this chapter was so short, they are getting longer, I Promise!


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for coming back to read more! 
> 
> Chapter 3 is on the way, but I want to write a couple more chapters before I upload it, so bear with me.
> 
> So, here you go, chapter two!

John couldn't believe his eyes. He re-read the single message from his, normally, demanding flat mate to ensure that his eyes weren't deceiving him. They were not. Sherlock had, in fact, apologised. _Now that's a turn of events._ John returned his phone to his desk as his next patient knocked on the door.

"Come in. Good afternoon Darren, please take a seat" John announced as he entered the room.

Throughout the entire consultation Johns mind wavered to the unexpected message he'd read moments earlier, returning to one question constantly; _how on earth do I reply to that?_ If Sherlock had replied with a snarky comment, as John had expected, he would have had no trouble responding, but this he wasn't prepared for. Sherlock never backed down, always believing he was right, although, John had to admit, he usually was. In the end, he settled for a simple reply and pressed send, once his patient had left the room.

"It's okay.".

Sherlock’s response came through instantly. John suspected that he had been holding his phone since sending his last message, which was close to five hours ago now, "No it's not. SH.". John frowned at his screen as he read the message. This wasn't like Sherlock. In fact, it was so unlike him that for a moment John worried that it wasn't Sherlock at all and, as ridiculous as it sounded, that he had been kidnapped. It wasn't unusual for one of the pair to have to race around London on a mission to save the other, especially during a case. John often found himself contemplating his own sanity since deciding to stick around at 221B Baker Street after being strapped to a bomb and escaping almost certain death in the hands of a Chinese travelling circus.

"What's brought all this on?" John asked, then the conversation began to flow with swift replies.

"I'm apologising. That's what people do when they have offended someone, isn't it? SH.".  
John sent his message with a small snort, indicating his amusement, "My point exactly.".  
"I don't understand. SH.".  
"You're not 'people'. ".  
"John, I have come to realise that I do not speak to you fairly in the time between cases. I get bored and take my anger out on you. It is not right, therefor I am trying to apologise. SH.".  
"Okay...".  
"So, do you accept my apology? SH.". John was shocked. He never thought Sherlock would acknowledge his behaviour towards him, let alone beg forgiveness. John didn’t even need to consider his reply.  
"Yes. Of course.", he sent instantly.  
"So, how's work? SH.", his eyebrows shot up as he read the message.  
"Seriously, what's gotten into you? Has Lestrade called with a case, or something?".  
"No case. Just trying to be considerate. SH.".  
"Considerate doesn't suit you. What's the real reason you had for texting me?".  
"We need more salt. SH.".  
"MORE SALT?! We had a whole pot yesterday!", John paused for a moment before sending an additional message, "Experiment?".  
"Yes. Can you go shopping on your way home? SH.".  
"I suppose I don't have a choice, it's not like you'll go.".  
"I would have offered to go myself, but you just advised that I shouldn't be considerate. SH.".  
John chuckled to himself as he wrote out his reply, "I guess I walked into that one! I'll go after work.".

After John wrapped up his final appointment of the day he packed away his belongings and wandered out of his office. He nodded to Sarah, sat behind her desk, as he left the doctors surgery, breathed a sigh of relief as the double doors swung shut behind him, then hailed a cab before it passed him by on the street.

In the taxi on the way to the supermarket, John made a mental list of what he needed to purchase; _milk, eggs, bread, tea, sugar, pasta, potatoes and vegetables – just the basics. Oh, and salt, I mustn’t forget Sherlock’s salt._

John completed the shopping in no time at all, then strolled down the aisle containing salt. John stood there for a moment, unsure of how much Sherlock would be needing, then settled on purchasing 5 bottles.

As he placed the final one into the trolley, a familiar, deep voice boomed behind him, “If you eat too much of that you’ll have a heart attack, but you’re the doctor here, you know all about that!”.

John turned around and found himself looking up at a tall, stocky, dark haired man. To his left stood a young girl with piercing blue eyes, who John knew to be his 8 year old daughter, clinging to his leg.

“Andy, great to see you!” John said, as he shook his hand, then crouched down and put his hands on the young girls shoulders before smiling and adding, “Haven’t you grown up Grace! You’re looking more like your mum each time I see you”, she smiled back.

“So, how’s my little cousin doing these days? Still living with that Sherlock fella?” Andy asked, as John stood up.

“Yeah, I am, and good thanks. The salt’s for him actually; some experiment.” John said, shrugging his shoulders and making a hand gesture.

“Good luck with that then. From what I’ve read on your blog, his experiments sound… interesting.”.

John furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side, indicating his confusion, “You read my blog? I didn’t realise.”.

“Yeah, little Gracie here loves hearing about your adventures. Wants to grow up and be a detective just like Sherlock, isn’t that right poppet?”.

“Yep!” Grace announced, with a grin.

A giant smile crept onto Johns face. He thought nothing could ever beat the satisfaction of putting a criminal behind bars, but he’d never felt more proud than in this moment. Knowing that he and Sherlock had inspired the next generation made his blog, in his opinion, worthwhile.

“Well, that’s a great ambition you’ve got there. “ he commented before turning to his cousin, “So, how’s things with you Andy?”.

He, of course, knew exactly what John was referring to. Andy and his wife, Jacky, had recently split, leading to Andy spending limited amounts of time with his precious only daughter. “As good as can be expected. Just picked Grace up from school for her mum, she had to stay late at work, so I offered to pick her up and take her back to school tomorrow.”. Andy didn’t need to give John the real reason, the subtext was clear. Jacky had developed a drinking problem over the past year, one of the many reasons the pair had split. Evidently Jacky was too drunk to care for her daughter tonight. John felt his phone vibrate in his trouser pocket. When he unlocked the screen he found that Sherlock had sent him a message, “Have you got the salt yet? SH.”.

“Well, I best be off. Sherlock’s wondering where I’ve got to. Great seeing you Andy.”, John reached out for a handshake.

Andy shook his hand, “And you, see you later.”.

As they walked their separate ways, John glanced over his shoulder and saw Grace looking back at him. He gave a little wave, to which she giggled and skipped off to catch up with her father.


	3. The Shock of a Lifetime

Sherlock bound up the stairs to Johns bedroom door and swung it open, being careful not to smash it against the wall. He strode purposefully over to the edge of Johns bed, grasped the edge of the quilt, ready to yank it off, then paused to reconsider; he didn’t know if John slept naked. John was sprawled out on his back with one arm cradling his head, looking so peaceful that Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt for disrupting his slumber. He carefully put the quilt back down then moved to the light switch. As Sherlock flicked the switch John woke up and, with a grunt, rolled over onto his stomach, scrunching up his face.

“What time is it?” John asked, his speech slurred in his half asleep state.

“Three thirty two.” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly.

“Why the hell have you woken me up in the middle of the bloody night?” John exclaimed as he shot up into a sitting position, glaring at Sherlock.

“Lestrade text about a case.”.

John shot out of bed, facing off Sherlock, thankfully wearing pyjamas, “Oh, and I guess I’m supposed to believe that he requested us on the scene at this time of night?”.

“No, he said to get there when we could.” John gritted his teeth, “A young girl has been kidnapped John, I thought you’d want us to get there as soon as possible.”, at this he calmed a little.

“Yes, well, I’d better get dressed” John said, as he ushered Sherlock out of the room.

“Lestrade will be here in five minutes” Sherlock pointed out as John slammed the door behind him.

 

Within ten minutes the pair were dressed and in the back of the police car, where Lestrade brought them up to speed on the case.

“The single mother of one put the young girl to bed around 8 pm last night. She woke up during the night, went to check on her around 3 am and she wasn’t in her bed. She checked around the house, found she was missing, then phoned the police. That’s when we contacted you. That’s all we know so far, but she’s being questioned as we speak. Oh, and thanks again for getting back to me so soon, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble?”

John glared at Sherlock as he slowly answered “No, no trouble at all.”

“So, where are we?” Sherlock continued like John hadn’t said anything at all.

“72 Tidenham Gardens, in Croydon.” Sherlock noted that John sat up straighter and set his shoulders back a little.

“Did you say 72?” John questioned to which Lestrade answered “Yes, I did. Why?”.

John turned to look out of the window, “No reason”, and continued to do so throughout the remainder of the journey. Sherlock knew something was wrong; John didn’t contribute to the ongoing conversation between the other two as he usually would. Sherlock put it down to the fact that he’d been woken up in the middle of the night.

When they arrived at the scene of the crime Lestrade parked the car and walked inside the house. Sherlock unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the door handle, intending to follow, but John held him back, “I might sit this one out, Sherlock.”.

“Nonsense, you always come to the crime scene with me.”, Sherlock stepped out of the car, John continued to stare forward, determined not to exit the car. He walked around to the opposite side, opened the door then gestured for John to step out. With a huff, John clambered out, slammed the car door and stood next to him.

“Happy now?” John said, scowling up at Sherlock

“Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Sherlock mumbled, looking up towards the sky, smirking.

“Oh, and who’s fault was that?” John lashed out as he marched towards the house, Sherlock followed.

The pair reached the steps to the front porch, but John stopped short. _What’s gotten into him?_ Sherlock continued to walk up the steps and into the house, confident that John would follow, which he eventually did. John came to a halt next to Sherlock as he scanned the living room, deducing, when Lestrade joined them.

“I’ve just spoken to the officer that interviewed the mother. She said that she was asleep in bed,” but Sherlock cut him off, before he could finish, with “She lied.”.

“What are you talking about? How can you possibly know she lied? And Why bother?” Lestrade questioned the detective.

“She didn’t go to bed last night; she passed out here, on the sofa. See here?” He crouched down and pointed to the sofa cushions before continuing, “Clear impressions in the seat which can only be formed after laying down for a long period of time. She passed out, sprawled across the 3-seater, with her arm hanging off the edge, glass in hand.”. He glanced up to see Lestrade looking at him dubiously. Sherlock sighed before resuming, “ Look here, tiny chip out of the floor board, where the glass landed and smashed; you wouldn’t notice unless you’re looking for it. When she woke she found the broken glass, swept it up, but she missed a bit; some of the shards went under the sofa, unnoticed.”. Lestrade bent down and peered under the sofa with Sherlock, where there was, indeed, pieces of the shattered glass. John continued to stare at the floor, clearly distracted. “Oh, and look what we have here!”, Sherlock added enthusiastically, standing up and reaching behind the sofa to reveal an empty bottle of wine.

“Well, I guess I’d better go and speak with her myself. Care to join me?” Lestrade asked.

Johns head shot up, “We’ll stay here, thanks.”, he blurted out as Sherlock prepared to answer. Lestrade glanced between the two suspiciously before nodding and wandering off.  
“Why didn’t you want to speak to her?” Sherlock turned to face John, who had begun staring at the floor again.

“I just thought our time would be better spent here.” John mumbled before lifting his glassy gaze to look at Sherlock, “You can go and question her if you want, I’ll wait here for you.”.

“No, it’s fine,” Sherlock said hesitantly, “I need to look in the girls bedroom anyway.”, then walked across the room to climb the stairs with John at his side. He glanced into all of the rooms on the upper floor before locating the bedroom belonging to the missing child. John stopped outside the open bedroom door while Sherlock went straight in. He spun round and stared at John before pulling him into the room by his hand, angered by the constant stalling.

Sherlock moved across the room towards the bed in the centre, scanning the room for anything that might hint towards the child’s whereabouts. John remained frozen in place, a few metres away from the bed, staring at it.

“What do you think, John?”

“Huh?” John said, awakening from his daze.

“What do you think happened in here?” Sherlock repeated, turning around to face John.

“Oh, don’t you start,” John exclaimed, “I’m not in the mood for you to stand there and taunt me about how little I pick up on! So, just hurry up and get on with your deductions. The sooner we leave this place the better.”

Something was clearly wrong, Sherlock just couldn’t figure out what could be affecting John so deeply. He’d never seen John so distressed. “Okay. Right. So, erm, well” he couldn’t string a sentence together, distracted by John’s outburst.

“Get on with it then!” John snapped, bringing him back to reality.

“Right. We already know that the mother was passed out downstairs, so it wouldn’t be difficult for someone to pick the lock on the back door and stroll right in; the back door being the only possible entry point where they couldn’t be observed by the neighbours. The kidnapper must have known about her drinking problem in order to anticipate her unconscious state, narrowing the pool of suspects considerably, the most likely suspect being the father.”

“It wasn’t the father.” John announced.

“How can you be so sure? Statistically speaking a child is most likely to be abducted by a family member, the father being the most probable.”.

“I… I just don’t think it was the dad” John replied, his gaze traveling around the room, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock.

“Well, anyway, the only sign of struggle is the bed; the quilt is tangled, blanket on the floor. No scratch marks on the walls or the door, implying that the girl was unconscious as they left the room; the kidnappers probably knocked her out using a chloroformed rag.”, Sherlock turned around to face John, then realised that he wasn’t paying attention, staring at his feet. “John, are you even listening?”.

John looked Sherlock in the eye and stepped forward, “No, I’m not actually.” John said bitterly, “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Sherlock! Come to think of it, maybe you think it does! It’s not like you know anything about the solar system because it’s so unimportant that you deleted it. I may as well leave, clearly I’m just a distraction, interrupting your deductions.”. At this John turned and stalked out of the room.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, dazed. He’d never witnessed John like this before; normally collected not rash. He moved over to the window which overlooked the drive way, shocked by what he saw; John was conversing with one of the officers on duty. He climbed into the passenger seat of the car which, moments later, trundled down the drive then disappeared into the distance, leaving Sherlock alone.

 

Sherlock was stood outside the door to 221B Baker Street after taking a taxi back from the crime scene, confident that John would be in a better mood after having a few hours to cool off, but he would soon be proven wrong. After shutting the door to the flat, Sherlock walked through the living room and stopped dead in the door way to the kitchen. John was sat at the kitchen table with his elbows propped on the edge, head in his hands. “John,” Sherlock begun, unsure if he was even awake.

John lifted his head and stared Sherlock down, “Oh, finally came home to see if I was okay, did you?”.

“I had to continue solving the case, John. You know how important the work is.”.

John tutted, “Oh yeah, the precious work. That’s all that matters to you isn’t it? Not even the emotional state of your one and only friend can beat it. You didn’t even think to ask what was wrong!”.

Sherlock didn’t have an answer for that. How could he have been so careless? Staring at the floor he muttered “What’s wrong, John?”.

John flew up out of the chair, “That doesn’t count! For someone so smart you can be utterly stupid sometimes! Did you even notice there was something wrong?”.

“Of course I did! You’ve been acting off ever since we drove to the crime scene today.” Sherlock rebutted.

“Crime scene, I hate hearing that house being called that.” John said, shaking his head.

“What’s so important about that house?” Sherlock snapped.

“What’s so important? That house is owned by my cousins ex-wife, and ‘the girl’, as you keep referring to her, is his bloody 8 year old daughter, Grace! I only saw him with her on Tuesday, three days and that’s it, she’s gone.” John shouted, losing his temper.

Sherlock instantly regretted what he’d said, “John, if I’d known…”.

John cut him off, “So what if you’d known? It wouldn’t have been any different! You never stop to consider anyone else but yourself, because your Sherlock bloody Holmes and you work alone, anyone else is just a hindrance!”.

Sherlock was furious, how could John even consider that to be true? “Have you just completely forgotten the past year, John? I haven’t worked alone, I’ve had you by my side every single day! Clearly you’re not a hindrance to me.”.

“What’s so special about me then? You push everyone away, why not me?”, John Shouted.

Sherlock didn’t have an answer for that. He’d searched for one constantly and found himself returning to one possibility, that he loved John… no, that can’t be it, he pushed the thought from his mind. “I don’t know.” , John sniggered, “I’m telling the truth, I don’t know what it is that’s different about you, your just… you. Look, John, I am truly sorry for the what has happened today.”

John paused for a moment, composing himself, then spoke quietly, “No, I’m the one that should be apologising. I should have been straight with you from the start, instead of taking it out on you.”.

“I shouldn’t have forced you onto the…” crime scene. Sherlock paused, reconsidering his wording, “Into the house today. I should have listened.”.

“It’s okay, honestly, and I’m glad you stayed to solve the case.”.

Sherlock swallowed a lump in his throat, “John…”

“I’m serious, Grace was more important that me.”.

Sherlock decided to come right out and say it, no matter what the consequences, “John, I didn’t solve it. I don’t know where she is.“.

“W-what do you mean you di-didn’t s-solve it?” John stuttered, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“I’m so sorry John, I did everything I could.”, he hung his head in shame. He felt terrible, that he’d failed John. He always believed in Sherlock’s abilities, trusting him to resolve any situation the pair were thrown into, now he’d disappointed him. Worse still, he’d left an innocent child, part of Johns family, in the hands of a kidnapper. _How will he ever trust me again?_

An alarming thought popped into Sherlock’s head. _What if he leaves me?_ If John moved out, his life would take a turn for the worse. Without John by his side he wouldn’t function. Sherlock had become dependent on John’s company to crime scenes, he’d realised that today. After John fled the house in the police car, Sherlock couldn’t concentrate. Over the past year John had become a trigger for him, without him he found it difficult to make useful deductions. He needed to make John aware of his importance, or else the unthinkable might happen. “John, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I couldn’t do it without you, I needed you. We can go straight back to the house now and I’ll do everything in my power to find Grace for you. No, I promise I’ll find her. Just please, forgive me, John.”.

When John didn’t reply Sherlock lifted his head. John was leaning against the table top breathing rapidly, he presumed out of anger. “John I truly am sorry, if there is anything…”, Sherlock cut himself off as John looked up at him. A sheen of sweat had developed on his forehead and his breathing had turned shallow. When he began trembling uncontrollably Sherlock began to worry. He scanned his friend from head to toe, trying to deduce what the problem was. “John, what’s wrong?” he asked, desperately wanting to help.

Johns knees gave out and he fell to the floor in a heap, struggling for breath. Sherlock sunk to his knees and lifted John’s face with a hand under his chin. Sherlock was alarmed by the sheer terror he witnessed when he met John’s eyes. Sherlock began desperately searching Johns face for a hint of what was wrong. “Panic attack” John managed to choke out.

Sherlock felt a rush of relief that it wasn’t anything life threatening, though John was still suffering and it pained Sherlock to see that. “What can I do to help?” Sherlock asked, to which John gestured towards the sink. It took him a moment to fathom what John meant, “Oh, water?”. John attempted to reply but broke down into a coughing fit, "No, don't speak, just nod or shake your head.", he nodded.

Sherlock ran a glass of water and supported it in johns hand as he drunk; his hands were trembling too much to control the glass. "Do you want go sit down?", he nodded. "Sofa?", John answered with a small nod, his laboured breathing beginning to have an detrimental effect on him.

Sherlock walked John into the living room, supporting him by placing an arm around his waist while carrying the glass of water in the other. When they reached the sofa Sherlock eased him down onto the middle cushion and perched on the coffee table in front, glass of water positioned at his side, their knees touching. John reached out and tried to grasp the glass of water, but he couldn't grip it. Sherlock closed his hand around johns and helped him lift the glass towards his mouth. Before drinking any of the water, John broke down into another bout of coughing, began hyperventilating then hunched over in agony.

"John, John, listen to me. You need to calm down,", it was torture for Sherlock to see John suffering like this. Sherlock moved onto the sofa to the left of John, "come here.". He lifted his right arm up, inviting John to lay back and rest his head on his shoulder. Comforting John was the only way he could think to help. At first John hesitated, then he gave in. Once John was settled Sherlock brought his hand down and began tracing small circles in his hair with his fingers. John began to calm instantly, his breathing settling. Sherlock let out a deep breath and felt his own body relax, unaware of the fact that he himself had tensed up. Sherlock leant over, resting his forehead against Johns hair, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”, Sherlock whispered, as John began to drift into a deep sleep.


	4. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm back! I really am so sorry that it took me so long to add another chapter, real life got in the way. I've started writing a second fic, also Johnlock, called 'Nine Lives' which you can read here http://archiveofourown.org/works/2203233/chapters/4827255
> 
> I'd love it if you check out that one too! More updates on both on the way soon (hopefully).
> 
> So, yeah, thanks again for reading this, hope you enjoy!

When John awoke a few hours later, confusion set in; he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what had led to him being snuggled on the sofa with his head in Sherlock’s lap. _With his head in Sherlock’s lap_. His heart skipped a beat, mind beginning to race through the earlier events of that morning in a slideshow of snapshots. The shock of discovering that Grace was still missing and the panic attack that immediately followed. However, the most prominent memory was of Sherlock desperately trying to help him through the traumatic experience, resulting in John falling asleep curled up on the sofa, resting his head on Sherlock. As his mind slowly returned to reality, he became increasingly aware of the fact that Sherlock was gently caressing his hair, suggesting to John that he was not only tolerating the physical closeness, but cherishing it. At that realisation he drew in an involuntary breath, and in that moment the minute flicker of hope that Sherlock wasn’t aware of the fact that he was now awake perished.

“Oh good, your awake,” Sherlock commented, then proceeded to stand, lifting John’s head in his hands and plonking it down onto the sofa after he vacated the space. John tilted his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a small sigh; _definitely only tolerating it._

John craned his neck, peering over the arm of the sofa in the direction Sherlock had stalked off in. What he witnessed was hardly a surprise; Sherlock lifted the kettle and placed it, along with two mugs from the cupboard, in the middle of the table, then made his way through the flat, back to the living room. After plopping himself down into his chair, Sherlock steepled his hands beneath his chin and began staring into space. Whether Sherlock was truly lost in thought or merely manipulating John remained a mystery to John, as it likely would forever.

John swung his legs off the sofa then rose to his feet. After rubbing the last remains of sleep from his face and running his fingers through his hair, he made his way into the kitchen. Arriving at the table in the centre of the room, he grasped the kettle and turned to the sink. Out of the corner of his eye he was almost certain he glimpsed Sherlock smirking. He abruptly turned his head, but Sherlock was in his original state, his gaze fixating on nothing.

John went about his daily routine. He prepared tea and toast for the pair of them, despite the fact that he knew Sherlock wouldn’t eat it. John indulged in a much needed shower, later than usual, as he hadn’t found the time to do so since being rudely awoken by his flatmate in the early hours of the morning. Once dressed, John made his way back into the living room, settling onto the sofa and switching to the news on the TV. What he faced was exactly the situation he’d been trying to eradicate from his mind all morning.

As an image of Grace appeared on the screen all Johns emotions came flooding back; worry for her safety, sympathy for her family, dread at what the rest of the day would hold, a sense of uselessness in her safe return and anger that Sherlock hadn’t discovered her whereabouts. John knew deep down that he shouldn’t feel that way towards Sherlock, that it was misplaced anger, but he did, and there was no denying it. John switched the off TV again, leaning his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hands, his mind racing. He forced himself to breath evenly, knowing he couldn’t cope with another panic attack so soon after his last. After several minutes of using every calming technique at his disposal, introduced by his therapist, a feeling came over John that he was being watched. John slowly turned his head to the side, peering towards where Sherlock was seated our of one eye, to find himself being scrutinised.

When the awkward silence became too much to bear, John cleared his throat before asking, “So, what’s the next move?”.

Sherlock frowned, considering John carefully, before answering, “When you were asleep I got as message from Lestrade. The father has been called in for questioning, so I need to go down to the station to listen in.”

“Right, when are we leaving then?”

Sherlock considered him carefully before responding, “I don’t think you should come with me John, it might be… difficult for you.”.

At that John’s emotions got the better of him. “I’m not a child Sherlock! I can make my own decisions, I don’t need you bloody dictating what I can and can’t do!” John snapped, immediately feeling guilty and attempting to back track, “Look, I’m sorry Sherlock.”. John sighed as he hung his head, “It’s been a difficult morning for me”.

“I know”, John knew he wasn’t finished there, despite the length pause, so he waited for Sherlock to continue, which he eventually did, “that is precisely why I think the best option would be for you to remain here while I go to the police station, it would be emotionally straining for you.”.

John couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. He raised his head to look Sherlock in the eye, “Going to the police station would be ‘emotionally straining’ for me, you say? Staying here would be ten times worse!”. John received a confused look in response, so he elaborated, “A member of my family has been kidnapped, Sherlock.” John said bluntly, “I feel helpless as it is, without staying here with no chance of assisting.”.

Realisation dawned on Sherlock’s face, “Right, well, if that’s the case, we best be off now then.”, the pair stood in unison.


	5. Mirror Image

Chapter 5 –

Within the hour they had made their way to the interview room containing John’s cousin. The officers they passed on their journey had long since given up on questioning their presence. They’d accepted that their help meant the cases were solved quicker and blatantly ignored the fact that their input was strictly against the rules.

Sherlock strode down the corridor, John right at his heels, as their trusty Detective Inspector turned to greet them with, “It’s about time you two got here! I must say”, he turned to look at John, frowning as he continued, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, John. Seemed a bit off earlier, everything alright?”

John turned to his friend, apprehension clear in his face. How could he reply to that? He seriously hated the idea of lying to Lestrade, but it wasn’t like he could reveal his true connection to the case, they’d be chucked out instantly! No working their way around that one…

Luckily Sherlock, once again, saved him from his internal freak out, replying to Lestrade with ease, “Everything’s fine Lestrade, John was just a bit touchy after I rudely interrupted his much needed sleep”.

John snuck a sideways glance at Sherlock, who in turn did the same, and raised one side of his mouth in a slight smile, a silent message of his thanks. Sherlock dipped his head minutely in acknowledgement.

Lestrade chuckled, having clearly missed the wordless exchange that had passed between the two of them, “Yeah, it’s not like everyone can function with no sleep for days on end like you, Sherlock”.

He continued to fill them in with the details of the situation of the case, “Anyway, we’ve brought Andy Killion in for questioning. As you pointed out, Sherlock, he is the most likely subject in the abduction of Grace Killion.”.

John flinched at the mention of their names, reverting back to staring at his feet to hide his discomfort from those surrounding him. However, he should have known that this wouldn’t be enough to conceal his state of mind from everyone currently in his presence. John witnessed Sherlock’s feet shuffle slightly closer, eliminating the remaining space between them, their arms resting against each other. To anyone else this action would appear to be due to Sherlock’s lack of consideration for personal space, but Sherlock had clearly initiated this physical contact. John’s mind travelled back to the moment they’d shared on the sofa, which John had dismissed entirely after failing to see its significance. Was he being naïve by disregarding the whole situation?

Apparently John had been lost in thought for quite some time, much longer than he realised. Coming back to reality he found himself alone in the corridor. He scanned his surroundings, searching for Sherlock, when he caught site of his foot poking out through a doorway up ahead. He lifted his eyes and found Sherlock staring back at him, a hint of… _something_ in his face. However, as soon as it had appeared, it vanished, replaced by his usual smirk. With a huff, John strode over to his friend, but as he attempted to pass through the doorway and into the observation room Sherlock held out his arm, pushing his hand to Johns chest to still him, frowning as he questioned, “Are you sure you want to do this, John?”.

John’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at Sherlock’s hand; smooth alabaster placed directly over his heart. John lifted his head, their eyes meeting. John caught the moment of Sherlock’s realisation of his own, apparently subconscious, action; eyes widened, mouth slightly parted in shock, as he abruptly drew his arms back to his sides, hands held stiffly as if they might make their way back to connect with John again of their own accord.

“Yeah, I’m sure” John mumbled after clearing his throat as he walked into the observation room and turned to face the one way mirror separating him from his cousin, Sherlock moving into the room behind him to stand at his side. John remained staring forward, his face deadpanned, vision fixed on his cousin sat in the centre of the room awaiting the scrutiny of Lestrade’s questioning. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes boring into his side, probably, knowing Sherlock, inspecting even the most subtle aspect of his expression. John raised his chin, in an act of defiance to his inner emotional turmoil. Unfortunately, his composure was short lived; he inclined his head, eyelids drooping as a sigh escaped his lips. John scrunched his eyes closed in anger and drew his previously fisted hands up to scrub across his face. Sherlock remained rooted to the spot, tension written in every muscle of his body, unsure of how best to comfort John. Lestrade chose that exact moment to stride purposefully into the adjoining interview room, releasing the pair from their quandary as their attention was drawn elsewhere.

Mere minutes later the questioning was well underway, Andy disproving every possible link between himself and the disappearance of his daughter.

“Mr Killion, where were you between the hours of 8 PM and 3 AM last night?” Lestrade questioned.

“At work,” Andy replied, before continuing at the Detective Inspectors confused gaze, “I work the night shift as a security guard at the Natural History Museum. I worked a longer shift last night; 8 PM ‘till 6 AM. So, funnily enough, there’s no way I could have carried out what you are accusing me of!” Andy snapped.

“Pretty sound alibi,” John mumbled to himself, though apparently loud enough for Sherlock, who murmured in response.

Several questions later Andy was beginning to lose his temper; the father could only stand to be accused of arranging the kidnapping of his own daughter for so long.

“How the can you sit there accuse me of all this?” he shouted.

“Mr Killion, you must understand that we are required to investigate any possible lines of enquiry. As you are the father of a child from a previous marriage, one that, from what I have read, did not end on the best of terms, it is entirely acceptable for us to investigate...”

“STOP!” Andy bellowed as he shot up from his chair, flinging the chair back and silencing Lestrade immediately. “Just because I don’t love my ex-wife doesn’t affect my love for my daughter. I love Grace and I’d never even dream of hurting her! Why can’t you see that?”

Andy began tearing up in his rage as he continued to shout. John began tearing up as he watched his cousin slowly fall apart before his own eyes.

“Do you have children?” Andy demanded, continuing when Lestrade nodded, “How old?”

“Eighteen months and 4 years, both girls.”

Distaste filled Andy’s face, “Now think about how it would feel to be accused of deliberately harming your two little girls. Could you cope with that, eh? Could you?” his voice gradually rising in volume.

When Lestrade made no indication of replying he bellowed, “I didn’t do anything to my little Gracie! Now do your f-ing job, _detective,_ ” he spat bitterly, “and find her!”

Tears were now streaming down his cheeks as he froze, staring into space like a deer caught in the headlights, “God only knows what they’re doing to her right now”, he whispered, falling to the floor and drawing his knees up to his chest with his back pressed against the wall.

“My Gracie, my poppet”, he choked out before breaking out into a sob on the floor of the police cell.

That was the last John heard. He couldn’t take it anymore; couldn’t see his cousin like that any longer. He fled the room in a fluster, oblivious to Sherlock’s calls of concern. eHe Heohgjfklsgn,He ran and ran, down the maze of corridors until he could run no more. He ploughed into door after door until he found the entrance to a disused staircase. Slamming the door behind himself he moved so that he was under the stair case, replicating the position of his cowering cousin as silent tears rolled down his cheeks.


End file.
